Phoenix

There was a time when swords and sorcery were what people believed in, and magic was a way of life. But that was eons ago, and times have changed.

Today, people believe in technology and standardized tests and scores. A single number is used to help set the course and tone of your life.

I approached the school building with trepidation. I had heard stories from other parents that the school lawyer often acted like Perry Mason in this type of meeting. If the parents disagreed with the school's suggestion, he would quote test scores and legal terms until the parents would give in like a courtroom confession.

The trees rustled softly as I entered the building and made my way down the deserted hallways to the appointed room. I knew the conference room was going to be small; but it was only about half as big as I had expected.

As I walked through the room's doorway, the temperature rose at least 20 degrees. The walls were painted an ugly dark green. An old-fashioned chalkboard covered over half of one wall of the room. On it were written the results of a ton of tests that had helped to prompt this meeting. An ugly and battered brown table occupied most of the floor space in the room; there was barely a walking path around its perimeter. A simple empty chair sat at one end of the table for me to use. A dozen or more chairs were clsutered around the other three sides and were overflowing with educational experts discussing my child's future.

As I scanned the room, I didn't see many familiar faces. I almost laughed when I noticed the principal and superintendent dressed in their identical black suits; they looked like the Blues Brothers minus the hats and shades. I noticed that Mrs. White, the special education teacher, still constantly twisted the long row of beads that hung from her neck. She had doen this every time I had ever seen her. Mrs. Gilbert, the new special educaation director, looked and acted like a bull elephant. She had been my daughter's kindergarten teacher before getting her master's degree. We had disagreed about almost everything from the first day of school.

The panel's leader was Mr. Marsh, the school attorney. Wearing a three-piece Armani suit, he looked bored as he looked at his Rolex watch and asked the panel members to take their seats so the meeting could begin. As the others wandered to the table, he looked at me as if i were his favorite doggie treat.

I couldn't begin to imagine the reason for his stare. Granted, I have long blonde hair and green eyes that guys seem to like. But my figure is like a linebacker in reverse, big in all the wrong places, since I had my baby.

"I really don't understand your expectations," said Mr. Marsh, looking down his patrician nose. "I'm sure you can appreciate our position, Mrs. Sheppard. There's really nothing we can do for your daughter here."

"First," I said, "my name is Crystal, not Mrs. Sheppard. That's my mother. And secondly, I don't have a clue what your position is. I thought the purpose of this meeting was to develop a plan for my daughter so she could be with her classmates."

"That's not exactly true, dear," said Mrs. Gilbert. "We're here to decide what the best placement for your daughter is. The team feels that it wouldn't be in her best interests to place her in a regular classroom at this time."

"A self-contained classroom is fine."

"The team has decided that the best placement for your daughter is at a state facility."

"I don't understand," I said. "Why is that even an option?"

Eight years ago, my daughter had steamrooled into the world six weeks early. The hospital room was painted a dingy shade of yellow that reminded me of the leavings of a dog in the snow. But my friends had redecorated it with wall-to-wall flowers.

My mother, Elizabeth, sat beside the hospital bed as I nursed my new daughter. I named her Phoenix, after the mythological bird, because I felt invincible whenever I looked at her. She was about the size of a Cabbage Patch doll I had played with in elementary school. But my doll had more hair. She had only a dusting of blond hair; but her green eyes shimmered whenever they were open. With only one look, I was in love with my little girl.

"I still think you're making a big mistake," my mother said. "You should give her up for adoption."

"I can't," I said. "She's perfect and she's mine."

"Then you should have gotten an abortion," she said. "You're too young to be a mother."

I looked up at her in surprise. "How could I take her head and her power before it had even begun?"

"Her power? You've been watching that stupid Highlander show too much. I don't understand your fascination with it."

"Because everyone dreams of immortatlity at some point. I am your immortatlity and she is mine. Through her, I will never die. Haveing children is the only way that mortals can achieve immortality. That's all I'm doing."

"This isn't science fiction, Crystal. Immortals and quickenings don't exist. But your child does. She doesn't make you immortal. Just a mother."

"That's enough, isn't it?"

"Let's review some of the facts about this case," said Mr. Marsh, gracing me with a patronizing smile. "What's the file number again, Mrs. Gilbert?:

She referred to her list. "Number 1-8-3-9."

"Thank you," he said. He shuffled through the pile of folders in front of him until he found the one he wanted. He slowly opened it. "Yes, Phoenix Ann Sheppard, born March 31, 1988. Mother was 15 years old at the time of child's birth." He looked at me disapprovingly. "Child has had no contact with her father. No developmental difficulties or delays were observed during the infant or toddler years. Entered regular kindergarten at age 5. No academic difficulties were noted. Child seems a perfectly, healthy and normal five-year-old. February, 1992, child injured in hit-and-run accident while riding her bicycle. Child suffered massive head trauma."

That day has been only the second time in Phoenix's life she'd ever been in the hospital. But this time was not a joyous time.I sat on the hard plastic chair in the dimly lit waiting room; I had lost any feeling in my legs and feet many hours before. A TV droned in the background about the latest world crisis; it sounded more like Charlie Brown's teacher than anything important.

Tear tracks had dried on her face as my mother had paced the waiting room for hours as we waited for the doctor to finish performing major brain surgery on my daughter. The doctor emerged thirteen hours to say my daughter was still alive. But she suffered major brain damage and would probably never be "normal" again.

I'm still not sure how long my mother talked to the doctor. Or how she managed to pry me loose from my perch on the chair to walk to the ICU. But she forced me to walk to to my daughters room. I refused to go into her room. Through the window of the ICU, I looked at Phoenix. The scene reminded me of Frankenstein and the first time the doctor sees his monster. They had cut her beautiful waist-length hair to a military buss, and half of her head had been shaved for the surgery. Next to her right temple was an indentation; the doctor said it was caused by a piece of skull that was missing. If she survived, they would put a metal plate in her head so she would look normal. A body cast covered her torso and her right leg; it was the only way the doctors could set all of her broken bones at the same time. The cuts on her face and head took 72 stiches to close; it looked like the crazy quilt covering my bed. She didn't look like Phoenix to my heart.

"We'll have to make arrangements for her care," my mother said. "Phoenix is a good name for her."

I looked at her, my voice rising as I spoke. "That's not Phoenix. Phoenix is dead. That thing in that room is not my daughter! My daughter was perfect in every way! That thing is missing part of its brain! I don't know what it is that's in that room, but it's not my daughter! It isn't even human anymore!"

"Crystal," my mother said, "you don't know what you're saying."

My voice was perfectly calm and quiet as I spoke. "I know exactly what I'm saying. My daughter is dead. That thing is not what I gave birth to. I should have listened to you, Mother. I wish it had never been born."

But, like her name, Phoenix rose from the flames and survived. She wasn't the same. But neither was the mythological Phoenix. And I changed right along with her. I had to learn how to be a mother all over again. Which brought us to today.

Mr. Marsh referred to the file again. "Child has had extensive rehabilitation, but remains primarily nonverbal. Speaks an occasional word, usually 'no.' Periodically becomes violent towards herself or caregiver. You expect us to put her with other children."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Her test scores indicate she only functions like a five-year-old!"

"Test scores are just a number," I said. "They don't tell you who my daughter is. All they measure is a single behavior on a given day."

"There is still the matter of her violent behavior."

"That is a rarity, Mr. Marsh, " I said, "and I know exactly how my daughter behaves."

"I hate to even say it," my mother began. "But are you sure that you can care for Phoenix yourself. All she does is stare at the TV."

"Mother," I said, we've had this conversation a hundred times. Phoenix is still inside that shell somewhere. I won't give up on her."

Phoenix sat mesmerized by the latest video from Puff Daddy on MTV. She stated at the screen with dull, lifeless eyes and her mouth open.

My mother stepped in front of the TV. Phoenix screamed. My mother leaned over to kiss her on the nose. Phoenix slapped her. "This can't go on, Crystal."

I sighed and walked to my daughter. "Phoenix, it's time for lunch."

She turned and looked at me for the first time in two months. Her eyes shimmered with life. "No, Mommy, TV," she said and turned back to the TV slipping into oblivion once more.

I blinked to keep the tears that threatened from beginning. "How can a number tell you what my daughter is capable of?"

"We don't have the money to take care of a child with such profound needs," Mrs. Gilbert said. "The state school is much better equipped to care for a case such as your daughter."

"I used to dream of immortality and magic. I thought I understood what that was all about the day my daughter was born. But I had no idea. My daughter is not the same now. But every now and then, Phoenix says no or looks at me, and the dullness isn't in her eyes. I see a glimpse of the way my daughter was. Somewhere, inside that shell, she's still alive. That's magic, just a different kind. My immortality lives on."

"The state school," said Mrs. Gilbert, "is the only option at this time."

"Then I guess I'll see all of you at a due process hearing. my daughter is entitled to a free education at the local school. Just like any other child." I put my coat on and rose to leave.

As I reached the doorway, I heard Mrs. Gilbert say, "You can't possibly win, Miss Sheppard."

Mr. Marsh interrupted. "Actually, she might. But even if the school won, it would be very expensive."

I turned aorund and looked at them. "Then work with me to make school possible for Phoenix. The only way either of us will truly win is to work together. Yes, I believe in magic, but I'm also realistic. I'm not looking for a cure or a miracle for my daughter. Just a chance."

"I think that can be arranged," he said.

Like a phoenix from the flames, immortality has its price. Phoenix is mine.